u/Laiii12

In my defense, this wasn’t my first time on crutches.

I had already gone through this whole ordeal once before on the other side. Total non weight bearing for 3 months, partial non weight bearing for 3 months. I thought I was an expert.

I remember waking up from surgery and PT coming by to teach me to do stairs. I tried to decline. I remembered from last time (I even took notes!) but no, they had me do it again “just in case.”

I remember all the discharge instructions from the surgeon and the nurses encouraging me to rest and to slow down.

I remember distinctly thinking in my head “I know, I know, I know” and biting my tongue to keep from rushing them because I really just wanted to go home.

Did I listen?

I was on the phone and needed to go downstairs. I remember telling this to my friend. He asked if I needed to go? “No, it’s fine. I can do both.” Idiot.

I held my phone up to my ear with my shoulder and used my hands for the crutches.

Made it about halfway before I missed a step.

I wasn’t paying attention. I thought the crutch was on the stair. It was actually on the edge. It slipped (carpeted stairs).

I actually realized what was happening and tried to catch myself before falling down the stairs.

By placing my leg down to stabilize.

The leg I just had surgery on a few days before.

I saw stars.
I thought I was going to puke.
I don’t know how I didn’t pass out.

Forcefully putting all of my weight on my bad leg a few days after surgery was not a part of the recovery plan.

Tl;dr ignored medical professionals telling me to be careful; wasn’t careful; worst pain imaginable.

I looooove cooking competition shows!!

By realistic, I mean what the audience sees / is told is accurate to what is really happening. So if the rules say contestants don’t know the ingredients beforehand, then they truly are not told until a set point. 30 minute cooks are 30 minutes in real time not edited in. The contestants can absolutely prep things beforehand if that’s allowed and announced to the audience. Etc etc.

I prefer the shows that at least appear to be more authentic and less scripted. I don’t need the heightened drama; I’m really just in it to see people cook. That’s why I get so annoyed when the show somehow edits the footage or doesn’t announce information to the audience. I just want an accurate picture of portrayal of the cook!

Any suggestions?

I (34F) am an American with an Armenian last name. I have always pronounced my last name with the Americanized version of it. (4 syllables instead of 3). Recently, my brother and I were talking about reverting to the original pronunciation hence the post.

The context:

I’m half Armenian (dad’s side). My grandparents spoke Armenian as their native tongue. My dad was born and raised in the US. English is his native tongue but he was fluent in Armenian until adulthood when he lost a lot from not using it. I’ve always heard my dad pronounce it the Americanized way and that’s how me and my siblings pronounce it, but my grandparents have always pronounced it the traditional way.

My mother is not Armenian. This is important. Before my parents got married, my dads’ parents actively tried to sabotage the wedding. They begged my dad’s friend to convince my dad to call it off. My aunt (dad’s sister) took my mum out to lunch and proceeded to tell her all the ways she wasn’t good enough for my dad. The reason always ended up being that my mum wasn’t Armenian.

Flash forward a bit. As children, my siblings and I had the opportunity to be fluent in Armenian. My grandparents frequently babysat us and gave us lessons and at that point, my dad was still fluent. My mum stopped this immediately. She didn’t want her children to speak a language she didn’t know and was probably still holding a ton of resentment toward my grandparents but we didn’t know this as kids.

Why do I think I’d be the asshole?

It feels like a slap in the face to my mother in some way. I know she’d hate it. It would also be difficult/annoying/confusing for people to be like “hey I know you’ve always said my last name like this but I’d like to go by this now” which is a minor thing but still present. It’s also harder (but I wouldn’t say hard) to pronounce for some. It also feels wrong in part because I don’t speak Armenian

Why do I think I wouldn’t be the asshole?

It’s my name! I should be the one who decides what I go by. I’d also like to be more connected to my Armenian side. When my grandparents died, it felt like I lost the bridge to the culture.

(This is a fairly low stakes dilemma. It is a serious ask and something I’ve thought about for a while but not something I feel particularly sensitive about; critique away).

I know that I’m fat. Trust me, I think about it every day. Do you know how exhausting it is to hear constantly from the people in your life that “you really should try harder” or “maybe you should exercise more.” It feels like being fat somehow means I gave permission for unsolicited comments about my health and my body.

I’ve been fat for as long as I can remember. I weighed 55 pounds when I was 5. I know this because I always thought it was kind of cool that I was 55 pounds at age 5, 66 pounds at age 6, 77 pounds at age 7. The pattern eventually fell off but when I hit double digits. I even remember in kindergarten, they had us line up in weight order. I was third to last in line. I remember Marissa Markle was 27 pounds and first in line, and that was the first moment in my life I disliked my own body.

As a kid and all through adolescence, I wasn’t lazy. I grew up in a suburban middle class family. My mum wasn’t the greatest cook but we had a home cooked meal most nights. McDonald’s was a rare treat. I was a picky eater but I’ve genuinely enjoyed fruits and vegetables so that wasn’t the issue. I also dislike soda so it wasn’t like I was drinking my calories since I really only ever had water or sometimes strawberry milk.

Okay maybe you’re thinking I was just sitting around all day, but also no. I grew up in a sports family. I was playing soccer for the town by 4-5 years old. By middle school, I was playing soccer in the fall, indoor soccer in the winter and softball in the spring. This continued through high school. I played field hockey and softball for the high school team. In the summer, yeah I had some time to sit around and play video games but we also did a lot of fishing, hiking, playing tag outside and all that.

By 14, they diagnosed me with PCOS and put me on oral birth control. By the time I graduated high school, I was over 215 pounds.

There was one night in college that I’ll probably never forget. You see I had this friend and she was kind and funny and absolutely fucking stunning. Guys constantly approached her trying to shoot their shot. I never got a passing glance. But one day, this guy was flirting with ME. Not my friend, but me. And she was standing right there. Like did this guy not see her? He and I ended chatting, flirting while my friend and one of his friends did the same. At one point, my friend needed the bathroom so we went together. When we came back, the guys didn’t see us and I accidentally overheard the guy who I was chatting with tell his friend he owed him for “jumping on the grenade” so that his friend could get a chance with my friend. The other guy laughed and asked if he’d earn a “brick” tonight. For those that don’t know, apparently for these frat boys when one of their brothers slept with a woman who was fatter than him, they’d present him with a brick the next day. I ended up walking home by myself.

I am grateful for the interaction in some way because it sparked me to try harder. This was senior year in college. I had basically already finished my classes and was just riding out the final semester. I had time on my hands. So I started walking more. I would walk for miles and miles. I loved it. I’d find excuses to take the long way. I’d go for a mile five walk at least once a day. The pounds started coming off.

After graduating college, I kept going! I don’t think I can impress on you how much I loved walking. I’d walk everywhere. I had a treadmill and sometimes I would walk for hours while watching tv and wouldn’t even notice.

Eventually by 2014, I was down to 165 pounds. I felt great. I discovered FitBit which was a game changed. I fucking loved the stats. Seeing the numbers go up. Seeing how many steps I could get in a day was a fun challenge. I would average 22,000 steps on a regular weekday while working full time.

Then one day my left hip start hurting after a 5 mile run. No worries, probably didn’t stretch enough. Then my hip started hurting after 3 miles. Then 1 mile then eventually I was having trouble walking at all without pain.

I went to a doctor. I got X-rays done. Turns out I had an impingement in my hip (basically little bit of extra bone where it shouldn’t be) and it was hitting bone. It fucking hurt. Not always but if I hit the end of my range of motion, it was a shock of 6-7/10 pain for a few minutes. They did an MRI and turns out I tore my labrum. I remember the conversation with the surgeon. “You’re young. Surgery is the right call. You’ll bounce back and not have to worry about this anymore.” I believed him.

I had my first surgery in 2015. When I woke up from the surgery, they told me that my labrum was more damaged than expected and so they had to remove it instead of straight repair. I was on crutches for months afterward. I did physical therapy. I did all my home exercises.

I ended up gaining some weight but I was okay with it. My body was healing. After 5-6 months in PT, I got back to walking. By 2015, I was 152.7 pounds. The lowest I have ever been in my adult life.

Surgery sucked but I felt like I had bounced back and could move forward with my life… until my hip hip started hurting. My heart dropped. I went to my surgeon immediately. He told me it was probably nothing to worry about. There was only a 25% chance that I’d have the same issue on my right side. I had to fight with him to get an MRI. He finally ordered it. But then insurance refused to pay for it saying it was not “medically necessary”. It went doc to doc. Eventually after a few months they agreed. I got my MRI and oh look I had another impingement and massive labral tear in my other hip. I wanted to tell everyone “see look! I’m not lying! I’m not making this up!”

My second surgery was in 2017. The recovery was not as smooth as the first. I did everything I was supposed to again. I did physical therapy. I did all my home exercises every single day. But I wasn’t getting better. I was in near constant pain. One hip would compensate for the other and I’d just constantly flip flop on which one was my “good hip.” My PT eventually discharged me after giving up and sent me to a pain clinic.

Luckily the pain clinic doctor was amazing. Absolutely no bed side manner but within 2 minutes of seeing me, she saw the problem. PT apparently wasn’t addressing the right thing. She re-referred me with different instructions to a new PT place. So back to PT I went.

And it helped for a little while. I followed up with my surgeon. The conversation was different now. It wasn’t “you’re young you’ll never have to worry about this again” to “the goal is to get you down to 2/10 pain.”

The pain never improved. I’ve done physical therapy at least 12 times. (Which yes means paying for the copays and the deductible and managing 2+ appointments a week). I tried anything the doctors would recommend. I got professional massages for my legs. I stretched everyday of my life. I strengthened. I improved flexibility. I tried but it wasn’t enough.

I couldn’t walk for miles and miles anymore. I had to limit it. I tried biking or the elliptical or something but it aggravated my hips and honestly didn’t hit the same way as walking did. I’d keep trying to walk and then need days to recover after. And I kept gaining weight.

It’s been 10+ years now. I am in pain every single day of my life. In the warmer months, it’s background noise now. It’s always there but I can tune out the 2/10 pain. I’ve gone into work with heating pads underneath my clothes. I hate having to choose between feeling pain or feeling nauseated because pain meds upset my stomach (and don’t cover all of the pain anyway). In the winter, I am in a constant 5/10 pain. I can barely tolerate sitting in chairs for more than 30 minutes before needing to adjust my position to offload pain on my hips.

I get so fucking tired when people tell me to just try harder. Being in constant pain is exhausting. I would rather be walking and lifting weights and playing sports again. Do you know how disheartening it is to try and be met with pain every single time? Do you know how fucking hard it was to psych myself up for the second surgery and teach myself how to walk AGAIN.

So yes I am fat. Thank you for noticing. I also work full time as a social worker. I go above and beyond at work. I sign up my extra assignments because I care about the work. I have a second masters that I just completed for fun. I’ll probably do a 3rd. I’m not afraid of the work. I’m not lazy. I invite you to imagine being in chronic pain for 10+ years and have some empathy.